


Apartment Philharmonic

by CrystallineInk



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pianist AU, Rating May Change, benarmie, musician au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallineInk/pseuds/CrystallineInk
Summary: His upstairs neighbour was a pianist.Thankfully, he wasn't one of those people who had an upright piano just for a talking point or only played “Hot Cross Buns” for guests to show off those three piano lessons their mother had paid for when they were eight. No, he was a competent player, even if he focused too much on Beethoven for his tastes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely off of [this post](http://actualmodel.tumblr.com/post/126244502008/one-of-my-neighbours-slipped-this-under-my-door).
> 
> Will eventually get to _Liebesträume_ , but for now, I'm exploring other classical works.
> 
> Not beta'd, not overly edited, all mistakes are mine, I own no rights, etc.. Please let me know if you find any distracting mistakes.
> 
> Best experienced whilst listening to [Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU)
> 
> I will be creating an actual playlist once I have this fic planned out entirely.

His upstairs neighbour was a pianist.

Thankfully, he wasn't one of those people who had an upright piano just for a talking point or only played “Hot Cross Buns” for guests to show off those three piano lessons their mother had paid for when they were eight. No, he was a competent player, even if he focused too much on Beethoven for his tastes.

Armitage had seen his neighbour a handful of times when he went down to the office to collect his mail. He was a scruffy looking man, and even though he was only just taller than him, he managed to take up the room with his frankly enormous frame. He didn't speak much to him; the occasional 'hello' in the lobby, a quick 'hold the door!' on the elevator, sorries passed between them as they would try to move past each other in the hall. His voice was deep, rich, filling the surrounding space in the same way his body did.

The same way his music did.

Armitage unlocked his apartment door and pushed it open with his side as he carried in his groceries. Millicent hopped down from her perch on the top of the sofa and trotted towards her papa as soon as he opened the door, mewing up at him. He closed the door with his hip, walked into his kitchen to set down the bags, and took a listen to his neighbour. Today was more Beethoven. _Moonlight Sonata_ , if he recalled correctly. The melancholy of the first movement drifted through the vents and sounded through his apartment. It was almost like he had the acoustics of their shared apartment space designed specifically for him. He smiled softly as he began putting away his purchases in time with the rhythm, swaying slightly from side to side in a slow dance as he hummed along. After his groceries were set in order, he moved out into his sitting area, leaning over his sofa to gently scritch under Millicent's jaw (who had returned to her rightful throne) before gently drifting into his room to discard his tie and shoes for the day.

“What a day,” Armitage said to himself, stretching his arms above his head, socks shuffling against the hard wood of his floor as he moved from his bedroom towards the kitchen area. He was playing this one gorgeously this time, like there was some sort of hidden meaning behind it all. Was there something bothering him, perhaps? Or was the weather having an effect on him? It was overcast, after all. No, that hadn't stopped him from playing this particular piece before during days of intense sunlight. Something emotional, maybe? It was difficult to tell, not knowing the man behind the score.

Armitage smiled again as he slowly spun around his sitting room, Millicent his only audience in the faux minuet. He knew it was in common time, but Beethoven had organised it in such a way that was so...danceable, as if it could be a waltz if he tried hard enough. He picked up his cat and gently swayed this way and that with her in his arms to the slow melody. After a good minute of slow dance, he gently dropped her to the floor and let her on her merry way, but continued swaying this way and that for another minute or so, humming lowly to himself as the alto and baritone penetrated the floor between them.

He let the slow, deep blues and greens flow over and around his body as he danced, careful not to knock any of his furniture over in the intense feeling of the sounds that surrounded him, swaying back and forth as he moved around his room. He let his eyes slip closed and envisioned himself in a churchyard garden, surrounded by pale yellow buttercups; solemn, macabre, but somehow uplifting in its spirits, as if calling to those long departed to dance with him in this slow, melancholy melody, the minor chord falling heavily on his ears and tainting the edges of his vision with black gossamer outlining the very edges of refinement in a perfect balance of brashness and delicacy.

As the first movement slowed and began to transition into the second major movement, he went for his wine rack and began searching for the perfect pairing to the taste of the music above him. Today had been productive enough that he figured he could enjoy the night with his neighbour playing a concert above him. Sometimes, Armitage liked to imagine that this—the music, the selection, the timing of the actual pieces—was just for him, a private philharmonic exclusive to apartment 5E, limited time engagement.

Except it was an almost nightly occurrence. He imagined that he wasn't the only person who could hear him—no, he knew he wasn't alone. That man played loudly and passionately. It was a true mark of his talent, then, given by how often he played, that he must not have ever received a noise complaint. It would have been a damn shame if he had received one, after all. The man seemed shy enough in person, always averting his eyes and hunching over as if he was self-conscious of his size; it would have probably ruined him if he even got the slightest word of annoyance. It seemed like he could only express himself through the keys of his beloved upright.

Armitage smiled as he selected a 2007 old vine zinfandel he'd been saving for a while. The special occasion? It was a Thursday afternoon. He deserved a treat, after all. He went back into the kitchen to find his corkscrew, still swaying gently to the lighthearted transition between the two major movements. After a moment, he popped the cork of the bottle and wafted it under his nose, sighing in content at the heavenly scent enhanced by the porous wood. He set it aside and did a small pirouette before reaching for a glass, then poured a generous amount for himself before sauntering back into his sitting area to sit on the sofa just as the third movement began.

He took a sip of his wine and hummed as organised chaos resounded through his apartment. He let his eyes slip closed and leaned his head back as he imagined a world where he was the ruler of his own kingdom, that he could see every machination, every well-oiled cog in his own world operating smoothly and doing its part among the network of each respective system for the overall outcome. Oh, what a wonderful world that would be, indeed. The beautiful synchronicity of it all, coalescing and synchronising to the rapid key strokes of his neighbour above him.

His neighbour's fingers kept flying over the ivory—was he going faster than normal? Armitage wasn't certain, but his train of thought kept speeding through his mind. He could barely make out each thought individually; instead of separate thoughts, images, flashes, colours, emotions, associations popped in and out of his awareness. The brightness of complete control over every aspect of his life, of every aspect of his wants and desires, the joy of accomplishment, the determination to get to his destination, wherever that may be, the heavy vermilion of each chord striking his senses, the taste of rich wine on his tongue with every minor chord, the churn of the baritone engine in his ear and the high whistle of the soprano sparking momentary flashes of coherency before quickly disappearing behind the mental smoke and headwind of the train that the melody produced. 

Armitage found he could focus on the overall experience, yet at the same time, just let the experience wash over him as it came; he couldn't pick one thing out of the melody produced by his neighbour at all, but could get an overall feeling of his neighbour's intents. He meant to bring order out of disorder, to make beauty out of chaos consumable to humanity. Oh, how difficult of a task would that be. Nature was no tame thing to deal with, every corner that a musician would wrangle the essence of nature into would just as easily be wormed out of, then would spring off out of some other far corner of the globe.

Humanity's job would seem to be to just connect the dots instead of trying to capture the essence to bottle and reproduce endlessly with every play and chord of his neighbour's fast-flying fingers, proposing ideas and solutions way ahead of their time; on a schedule that only nature and the quick-witted would be able to understand and ascertain. Even those ahead of their time would be hard to follow the exact train of thought, as it dashed from here to there to another place and back again in the blink of an eye.

Armitage took another deep sip of wine, humming contentedly as the third movement came closer to its hectic end, almost indiscernible from the beginnings from which the piece had started. The relation between the two movements was astounding; their striking minor chords that brought a stark shock of colour (a mellow blue-green in the first movement, a bright, peppy, summery yellow in the second, a striking red in this third) throughout the piece, their disobedience with the underlying tempo, the rebellion from the expected key throughout the piece, all were determined to make their presence known to Armitage in his humble apartment. He never thought he had synaesthesia before, but listening to his neighbour's interpretation of his sheet music had him seriously contemplating if he did or not.

As the last stanzas of the piece played, Armitage sat up and placed his glass of wine on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The last chugga-chugga of the baritone and the light flutters of the alto brought him the final chords at last, and he smiled. A beautiful interpretation of such a common piece, brought to life with a passionate and understanding maestro. The man in 6E was certainly a commendable player, understanding in just how the piece should be played. There was no stiffness, no hesitation in his performance, just how he would have preferred Beethoven to be in the first place. He was bold and brash, commanding the attention of his audience, and his neighbour had certainly done that.

Armitage clapped politely, loud enough for his neighbour to likely hear through the vents (he figured that if he could hear the pianississimo of his neighbour's performances on piano, he was sure to hear his mezzo-forte claps), then took another sip of his wine. He felt that his neighbour was likely finished for the day with fully composed pieces and would take the time now to practise original compositions or works with which he was unfamiliar.

The poor, tortured soul. He never seemed to take a break until late in the evening from his piano work. The dulcet tones of his piano would usually fade off between 11 in the evening and midnight, then start up again around 10 in the morning. Armitage wasn't normally there when the daily concert began, though he had heard from 6F that the man above him taught piano in his place during the daytime and afternoon. He supposed that was a way to make rent, but if that was true, the man above him seemed a bit of a recluse, only leaving his apartment for specific things like groceries or other necessities. Armitage felt strangely protective of his neighbour for some reason or another. Perhaps it was his upbringing to care for those who couldn't bother to take care for themselves.

He took another sip of wine as the man above him started playing around on the keys of his beloved with brief pauses between plays and smiled. If he were honest, Armitage wouldn't trade this ruckus for the world. Maybe one day, he could hear an original composition from his neighbour. Until then, he was perfectly content to curl up on his sofa with his cat and listen to the symphony above him until he drifted off into a light, pleasant doze after a day's work.

**Author's Note:**

> Any requests for other classical piano pieces are much appreciated! Leave them in the comments or come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://dwarvenstudmuffin.tumblr.com) and I'll try to work in your suggestion!
> 
> I am a college student currently pursuing a degree, so please bear with me--updates may not be regular until summertime!


End file.
